


This Is Gospel

by Jelly_Jenkins



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Alec Hardy Needs A Hug, Broadchurch Season 2, Gen, One Shot, Short One Shot, Song - This Is Gospel by P!ATD, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly_Jenkins/pseuds/Jelly_Jenkins
Summary: Just a lil songfic I wrote on the side, while I'm writing my main piece (which should be up at some point).A lot of emotions are going through everyone's head throughout the trial of Joe Miller.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	This Is Gospel

* * *

_This is gospel_

_For the fallen ones_

_Locked away in permanent slumber_

_Assembling their philosophies_

_From pieces of_

_Broken memories_

* * *

"Mr. Miller? It's time." The bailiff called out. Joe Miller opened the door, adjusting his tie one more time.

He followed the officer through the halls. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. He'd made up his mind as to what he'd say.

" _I can't go to prison. I won't survive._ " Joe thought, folding his cuffed hands in front of him.

The words of the vicar rattled in his head. Reverend Paul Coates, the only man nice enough - or perhaps virtuous enough - to show him any kindness.

" _Lord, give us the strength, so that we may deal with this day of challenges. Give us the wisdom, so that we may choose the correct path. And grant us compassion to understand the impact our actions have on others. We stand now at a crossroads and ask that you guide us out of the darkness... and into light. In your forgiveness, and mercy. Guide us on the path to redemption, under your gaze. Amen._ "

Those words repeated over and over, in cut up phrases taken out of their context. He knows what Paul meant. He knows he should udder a simple word, a simple phrase that would put the suffering of the Latimers, the suffering of the Millers, and the suffering of the whole town to rest. Guilty.

But, he had already made his decision, sometime after everyone had left, and sometime before he was asked to get all dolled up.

His words were going to cause a schism, he knew, but it didn't matter anymore. What has he got left to loose?

When you have nothing left to loose, you're truly broken. You become dangerous, a threat to yourself and others.

He wished he could know what the outcome of all this was. The only thing he could do was place bets with demons and angels.

He pictured it as 3 converging paths in the night. Dangerous paths, dangerous life choices, that will not end with light regardless. If he pleads guilty, the judge will give him his sentence, which would likely be life. Life in prison is something he can't handle. He'd probably kill himself given the first chance. If he pleads not guilty, and the jury finds him guilty at the end, he'll not only be sentenced to life, but he'd also have made himself the unimaginable, impossible jester of Broadchurch. He'd likely give himself a similar fate if it came to that.

But what if he pleads not guilty, and the jury finds him not guilty as well? He can't return to his old life. He never could. But what comes of him? Exiled? Murdered in a crime of revenge and passion? Suicide?

He knew he couldn't actually kill himself. Joe didn't have the guts. He didn't have the strength.

" _He was 11!_ "

But somehow, he had the strength to kill an 11 year old boy?

How fucking pathetic, his demons screamed through his head.

The bailiff opened the wooden door for him, which might as well of been the frame of a guillotine. As he stepped inside the box, which functioned more like a prison, he looked across all the faces he's hurt, minus one in a literal sense.

The Latimers sat to his right. Beth was staring right through his soul. Tired.

Mark was doing the same, but in a different sense. Disgruntled.

Their teenage daughter, Chloe, couldn't bare to look at him. Distraught.

The press were there. Olly and Maggie sat towards the end, like a mosquito in amber. Just doing their jobs. Unaffected, in an emotional sense, by what has happened. Acquiescent.

Rev. Paul was there, too. Strangely, he looked hopeful, yet depressed. Desperate.

Ellie was there. She looked like she was about to cry. Heartsick.

The dreaded question was proposed after the court stood, took vows, and prepared.

"Joe Miller. How do you plead?"

* * *

_Their gnashing teeth_

_And criminal tongues_

_Conspire against the odds_

_But they haven't seen the best of us yet_

* * *

"Mark, it's me, please, pick up." Beth said into the receiver of her mobile.

They were both angry. Angry was actually just scratching the surface of what they felt. Angry, and depressed, and overwhelmed. But most of all, tired.

Tired of hearing about Danny's case. They loved their son, and wanted justice, yes, but a part of them just wanted it over.

If Joe Miller had pleaded differently, that's what they could have done. They could have just let it rest. Let it be.

Mark had spent a lot of time feeling angry at Joe, mostly. Betrayed was actually a better word. Betrayed by the man he trusted to take his son on fishing trips. Betrayed by his open cowardliness to facing to his crime. And truthfully, betrayed by himself. He let himself think that Joe was a good man.

Mark had also spent a lot of time away from the house, unannounced. His therapy became playing video games with Tom in some woman's caravan.

"I'm serious. Where are you?" She concluded the voice message with. Beth remained staring at Mark's name for a longer time than she'd like to admit.

Many things ran through her mind as she stared at the name. Was he off shagging Becca at the hotel again? Was he going to hurt himself? Was he going to see Joe?

What'd it matter anymore, anyway? She knew that there was no way that they were going to make it out of this storm, this absolute hurricane, together. Not together, not happy, not stable, and not satisfied.

Usually, at moments like this, she'd give the vicar a call. She considered him a decent friend throughout all of this. But it was near dinnertime. She didn't want to disturb him.

What could she do? Mope about the house? Go for a run? Stare off at the TV for hours at a time with Chloe? Nervously re-dial Mark's phone over and over again until she made herself sick from worry? The final option seemed to be what she would do.

* * *

_If you love me let me go_

_If you love me let me go_

_'Cause these words are knives_

_That often leave scars_

_The fear of falling apart_

_Truth be told, I never was yours_

_The fear, the fear of falling apart_

_This is gospel for the vagabonds,_

_Ne'er-do-wells and insufferable bastards_

_Confessing their apostasies_

_Led away by imperfect imposters_

* * *

Alec Hardy awoke in a cold sweat, like he'd been doing for the past few hours, for the past few weeks. He'd been having a recurring dream of water. And he knew exactly where it was and what it came from.

Pulling a dead girl's body out of a lake isn't the most pleasant Sunday afternoon activity. Especially not when she's been missing for weeks, and you're the detective who's been on this case, which is the very same case that is killing you.

The entire memory is enough to bring Alec to tears. Which is exactly what it did. He wept within his bed, rolling over and assuming a fetal position.

He held his face, his breath became shaky. "I'm so sorry.. I'm so sorry.." He repeated over and over again in a hushed tone.

* * *

_Don't try and sleep_

_Through the end of the world_

_And bury me alive_

_'Cause I won't give up without a fight_

* * *

Ellie sat on the ledge overlooking the water, the one that was on the edge of Alec's yard. She had her orange jacket on.

They were so very close to closing the Sandbrook case. They both knew it. They both felt it.

They had decided to take a tea break. Actually, Ellie decided that Alec needed a break, and she talked him into it.

She looked down at the mug in her hands. Warm, rust-colored tea swirled on the interior. She rubbed her thumb across the rim before bringing it to her lips for a sip and a look across the moonlight-stained waters of the harbor of Broadchurch.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alec. It spooked her for a minute, causing her to absentmindedly say "God, shit! Jesus, Hardy, you can't sneak up on me." He didn't react. He just sat down next to her, keeping his legs towards the cottage.

"Can I talk to you?"

"No." The Scot answered quickly, sipping his tea, already annoyed by whatever she's about to say.

"I'm going to anyway."

"I know."

She looked down again, instead past her own legs and into the blackness of the water below. What stared back at her was a woman who was so broken.

"It's my fault that Joe wasn't convicted. And I'll never forgive myself for that."

Alec picked up his head quickly and stared at her.

"I-It's not.. entirely your fault."

She planted her left elbow into her thigh and held her forehead up with the hand that was attached to it.

"I mean, the Judge was a total twit for counting out the confession in the first place. And Joe's defense team were nothing more than a bunch of.. asinine conspiracy theorists." He hadn't noticed, but she had shed a few tears and let them drip into the seawater.

She sniffled, "I know it's not entirely my fault, I know that, Alec!" Ellie stared directly into his eyes.

He stared blankly into her. Without saying a word, he shifted himself closer to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She let it happen. Once he gauged her reaction, he shifted himself so they were sitting together, facing the water entirely. Alec continued to hold her shoulder.

She cried for a time, quietly and heartrendingly. Eventually she latched onto him, beginning to cry into his shoulder, more profusely now. Alec pulled her closer and shushed her quietly. He rested his cheek on her head.

They sat for a time, emotions spilled everywhere, cups of tea behind or next to them on the pilings. It was nice.

* * *

_If you love me let me go_

_If you love me let me go_

_'Cause these words are knives_

_That often leave scars_

_The fear of falling apart_

_Truth be told, I never was yours_

_The fear, the fear of falling apart_.

_The fear of falling apart._

* * *


End file.
